Facts

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Crossing a quarter mile of empty space above the bone-dry Little Colorado River atop a 2-inch steel cable, cat-stalking forward in the size 10.5 high-top moccasins made by his mother, Sarasota's 34-year-old native son completed his nearly 23-minute journey into history before Discovery Channel's global audience to become the world's undisputed premier aerialist.

But it did not come easy.

Dressed in faded blue jeans and a blue Discovery T-shirt with a camera strapped to his chest and wired for sound, Wallenda was calm and confident as he began the walk at 9:38 p.m.

But the winds and height of the walk rattled him.

”Joe Cool ain't so cool right now,” Wallenda said only a few minutes into the walk.

Wallenda spoke to his father, Terry Troffer — himself a former wire walker — as he made his way across the chasm.

“Wow, my arms are tired. This is a long way,” Wallenda said. “Maybe it's true and you shouldn't look down when you do what I do.”

Wallenda kept up a constant stream of prayers to calm the winds, calm the cable and calm his nerves.

“Lord, help this cable to calm down. Calm these winds in the name of Jesus. Help me to relax, Lord. Help me to calm down and relax.”

Wallenda was supposed to also speak to two Discovery hosts during the walk but told his father he only wanted to speak to him. Trotter tried to reassure Wallenda, telling him he was doing fine and to try and relax.

“It's kind of hard to relax when you're 1,500 above a canyon,” Wallenda replied. “What happens is an optical illusion. It freaks you out.”

Just over 13 minutes into the walk Wallenda paused and went into a crouch, gathering his thoughts and strength. On the other end of the wire stood Wallenda's family, including his wife Erendira, who appeared to be quietly sobbing during much of the walk.

Wallenda, ever the showman, ran the last few yards to solid ground after an agonizing 22 minutes and 54 seconds on the wire. He kissed the dirt, hugged family and friends and wiped joyful tears from his eyes.

“It was way more windy than I thought it would be,” Wallenda said. “It took every bit of me to stay focused the entire time. I was fatigued until I was about three-fourths of the way across; then it was all adrenaline.”

At the top

Critics who placed an asterisk by Wallenda's name after last year's Niagara Falls wirewalk because ABC network executives forced him to wear a safety harness must now wonder if anything can stop him.

In making the impossible look routine — whether gliding slowly above Tamiami Trail in downtown Sarasota or safely across the thundering cascades of Niagara Falls — Wallenda's unbroken string of successes may instill a unique aura of invincibility among his fans. He admits to faking slips and stumbles to frighten them back into reality.

Wallenda has stated previously that “A lot of people can do what I do,” and he names fellow Sarasotan and performance artist Bello Nock as a mentor in his autobiography, “Balance.”

The difference between Wallenda and performers he insists are equally talented, however, appears to be his willingness to submit to months, even years, of mental drudgery to make big events happen.

Paperwork, bureaucrats, obscure and byzantine regulations, lawyers, even inter-agency turf wars — Wallenda has proven adept at navigating the shoals of resistance with the skills of a career politician. In fact, Sarasota's most avid celebrity booster has said he might enjoy being its mayor when his daredevil career ends.

But a sharp eye on the big picture may — ironically — have put the greatest space between him and his legendary great grandfather, Karl Wallenda. As Karl's daughter Jenny Wallenda said last year, “Daddy didn't want to have to get permission. He was the type who would say, ‘You want me to do it, here I am now or you can forget it.' ”

As a consequence, at least in terms of scale, Nik Wallenda has far exceeded the triumphs of his storied ancestor. And in rebuilding what he calls the Wallenda “brand,” the seventh-generation acrobat has spent much of his professional life closing the circle on Karl Wallenda's unfinished business.

In 1998, for instance, Wallenda joined six family members to re-create Karl's nervy seven-person pyramid. The venue was Detroit, site of the 1962 accident that claimed the lives of two team members. In 2001, Nik Wallenda traveled with relatives to Japan to stage an unheard-of eight-person pyramid, good enough for a Guinness World Record, one of eight team or individual records he now owns.

In 2011, he returned to the site of Karl Wallenda's fatal 1978 tumble in Puerto Rico, where he and his mother Delilah paid tribute by crossing each other's paths on the high wire from 10 stories up.

Whether bicycling 20 stories above the streets of Newark, motorcycling on a highwire over a beach in Santa Cruz, Calif., or hanging from a helicopter in Branson, Mo., by the literal skin of his teeth, Wallenda's plan to revitalize the family name reached its spectacular conclusion Sunday night.

At the very least, crossing the Grand Canyon in Discovery's global arena made his mother's 1993 autobiography, “The Last of the Wallendas,” appear premature.

<p><em>HELLHOLE BEND, Ariz.</em> - Braving strong winds and a jarring “optical illusion,” Nik Wallenda drew deeply from his 30 years of high wire experience and deep religious faith Sunday to successfully traverse a wire stretched 1,500 feet above a deep canyon gorge. </p><p>Crossing a quarter mile of empty space above the bone-dry Little Colorado River atop a 2-inch steel cable, cat-stalking forward in the size 10.5 high-top moccasins made by his mother, Sarasota's 34-year-old native son completed his nearly 23-minute journey into history before Discovery Channel's global audience to become the world's undisputed premier aerialist.</p><p>But it did not come easy.</p><p>Dressed in faded blue jeans and a blue Discovery T-shirt with a camera strapped to his chest and wired for sound, Wallenda was calm and confident as he began the walk at 9:38 p.m. </p><p>But the winds and height of the walk rattled him.</p><p>”Joe Cool ain't so cool right now,” Wallenda said only a few minutes into the walk.</p><p>Wallenda spoke to his father, Terry Troffer — himself a former wire walker — as he made his way across the chasm. </p><p>“Wow, my arms are tired. This is a long way,” Wallenda said. “Maybe it's true and you shouldn't look down when you do what I do.”</p><p>Wallenda kept up a constant stream of prayers to calm the winds, calm the cable and calm his nerves.</p><p>“Lord, help this cable to calm down. Calm these winds in the name of Jesus. Help me to relax, Lord. Help me to calm down and relax.”</p><p>Wallenda was supposed to also speak to two Discovery hosts during the walk but told his father he only wanted to speak to him. Trotter tried to reassure Wallenda, telling him he was doing fine and to try and relax.</p><p>“It's kind of hard to relax when you're 1,500 above a canyon,” Wallenda replied. “What happens is an optical illusion. It freaks you out.” </p><p>Just over 13 minutes into the walk Wallenda paused and went into a crouch, gathering his thoughts and strength. On the other end of the wire stood Wallenda's family, including his wife Erendira, who appeared to be quietly sobbing during much of the walk.</p><p>Wallenda, ever the showman, ran the last few yards to solid ground after an agonizing 22 minutes and 54 seconds on the wire. He kissed the dirt, hugged family and friends and wiped joyful tears from his eyes.</p><p>“It was way more windy than I thought it would be,” Wallenda said. “It took every bit of me to stay focused the entire time. I was fatigued until I was about three-fourths of the way across; then it was all adrenaline.”</p><p><b>At the top</b> </p><p>Critics who placed an asterisk by Wallenda's name after last year's Niagara Falls wirewalk because ABC network executives forced him to wear a safety harness must now wonder if anything can stop him. </p><p>In making the impossible look routine — whether gliding slowly above Tamiami Trail in downtown Sarasota or safely across the thundering cascades of Niagara Falls — Wallenda's unbroken string of successes may instill a unique aura of invincibility among his fans. He admits to faking slips and stumbles to frighten them back into reality.</p><p>Wallenda has stated previously that “A lot of people can do what I do,” and he names fellow Sarasotan and performance artist Bello Nock as a mentor in his autobiography, “Balance.”</p><p>The difference between Wallenda and performers he insists are equally talented, however, appears to be his willingness to submit to months, even years, of mental drudgery to make big events happen. </p><p>Paperwork, bureaucrats, obscure and byzantine regulations, lawyers, even inter-agency turf wars — Wallenda has proven adept at navigating the shoals of resistance with the skills of a career politician. In fact, Sarasota's most avid celebrity booster has said he might enjoy being its mayor when his daredevil career ends.</p><p>But a sharp eye on the big picture may — ironically — have put the greatest space between him and his legendary great grandfather, Karl Wallenda. As Karl's daughter Jenny Wallenda said last year, “Daddy didn't want to have to get permission. He was the type who would say, 'You want me to do it, here I am now or you can forget it.' ”</p><p>As a consequence, at least in terms of scale, Nik Wallenda has far exceeded the triumphs of his storied ancestor. And in rebuilding what he calls the Wallenda “brand,” the seventh-generation acrobat has spent much of his professional life closing the circle on Karl Wallenda's unfinished business. </p><p>In 1998, for instance, Wallenda joined six family members to re-create Karl's nervy seven-person pyramid. The venue was Detroit, site of the 1962 accident that claimed the lives of two team members. In 2001, Nik Wallenda traveled with relatives to Japan to stage an unheard-of eight-person pyramid, good enough for a Guinness World Record, one of eight team or individual records he now owns.</p><p>In 2011, he returned to the site of Karl Wallenda's fatal 1978 tumble in Puerto Rico, where he and his mother Delilah paid tribute by crossing each other's paths on the high wire from 10 stories up.</p><p>Whether bicycling 20 stories above the streets of Newark, motorcycling on a highwire over a beach in Santa Cruz, Calif., or hanging from a helicopter in Branson, Mo., by the literal skin of his teeth, Wallenda's plan to revitalize the family name reached its spectacular conclusion Sunday night.</p><p>At the very least, crossing the Grand Canyon in Discovery's global arena made his mother's 1993 autobiography, “The Last of the Wallendas,” appear premature.</p><p>Right now, he is alone at the top.</p>